Daddy's Girl: A Daddy Issues Novel by Rebel Wild (books to read for 13 year olds .TXT) 📕

I know he doesn’t really want me to answer, so I suck even more of my lip in to keep quiet. I release it when he leans down close to me, his face now inches from mine. His tongue slips out of his mouth to moisten his lips, making his intentions clear. My mouth opens at the sight of it and he takes the opportunity to seize my lips with his. His tongue slips into my mouth and it tastes of spicy brown whiskey and warm caramel.

“Mmm,” I hear myself moan as he deepens the kiss, seductively working over my mouth.

No one has ever kissed me this way before. It is slow, carnal, and intoxicating all at the same time. He ravishes me and I feel it right down to my toes. I can’t seem to stop my body from responding to him. I lean in, needing more. I’m about to slip off the stool until he grabs my shoulders to push me back. He rips his lips away from mine way too soon. I’m left heated at the effect he has on me while I breathe desperately for air.

“On second thought,” he says, like he didn’t just take my breath away. “I think I know.” I dare not roll my eyes at his smug smirk as he walks away. He stops and turns around and I hold my breath, thinking he just guessed my thought. “Try not to worry about your father. I’m sure you’ll wear him down.”

“Yes, sir,” I say to him and catch myself when I laugh.

“Sleep well.”

“Good night, sir,” I say to him and chastise myself for gawking at him as he goes.

I finish my soda and put my dish in the dishwasher before I go off to my room. I opt for taking a bath instead of my usual shower. I find bubbles with a name I can’t pronounce and put a little in, giving an aroma similar to passion fruit. I soak in the hot water. My mind soon drifts to Mr. Garrett. I close my eyes and absentmindedly lick my lips in hopes that a little taste of him remains. My insides become warm with arousal. I dip my hand between my legs to soothe my aching clit. I’m already close to coming. Mr. Garrett’s face flashes in my mind, causing me to jump up. My God, he’s haunting me.

I drain the tub, dry off, and head back into the bedroom. I find Mr. Garrett’s handkerchief where I left it next to my rabbit on the bed and I study it. It’s monogrammed with his initials. I trace the letters with my index finger before I stuff it under the pillow with my rabbit and try to sleep.

Chapter Nine

I’ve survived my first two weeks as Mr. Garrett’s submissive, and I have to say it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. He’s not as bad as I thought he would be. I don’t know if it’s that I’ve gotten used to him or that I’m just better at following all his rules.

He’s been training me, demonstrating how all the crude devices can be pleasurable. When we’re done, he even lets me ask questions without getting angry or impatient with me. He claims he’s getting me used to things, but he’s torturing me and I think he’s doing it on purpose.

Ever since I dissolved in a puddle on his kitchen floor when he kissed me that night, he’s had me eating out of his hands. He knows exactly how to use his mouth to get me going. He builds me up and as soon as I’m about to explode, he stops and ends our session. I know he’s doing that on purpose. I bet he likes making me squirm. He gets off on it. He wants to make me desperate. He wants me to beg for it so he can “savor” it. Well, if that’s true, it’s working. My hang-up about being his submissive is dangling by a very thin thread.

I haven’t had an orgasm since I’ve been here, and I’m frustrated all the time. I’m always horny and on top of that, I’m stir crazy. I’ve been cooped up in here too long. The only place I’m allowed to go is to jail and I hate it there. I asked Joe to stop for something to eat on our way back today and he acted like he didn’t hear me. I even pretended to be faint from hunger, but he wasn’t buying it. Apparently, Mr. Garrett gave him strict orders to take me to and from the Twin Towers, nowhere else. Thank God, I have the table and chair out on my balcony now. At least I get to sit and have some fresh air while I catch some sun.

It’s almost time for dinner, so I hurry and change. I don’t bother to shower because once he dismisses me, I always have a quick minute to get ready for the playroom. I riffle through the cocktail dresses in my closet, looking for just the right one and I find it. It is a fire engine red, barely-there, spaghetti-strapped mini-dress that pushes my boobs up so high they hurt. I match it with red Jimmy Choo sky-high heels. If this dress doesn’t scream “give me an orgasm” I don’t know what does. Flipping my hair behind my shoulders, I adjust my boobs. They look like they’ve grown two-cup sizes in this dress. I run my hands over my butt and it feels like I’ve done a thousand squats.

Who knew a dress could do all that. I shake my head, not knowing if I should be disgusted or in awe at how desperate I am to come. It’s not like I used to get myself off a lot, but I’ve never been more aware of my vagina. It’s constantly making its needs known and it’s all because my body can’t function right